Old Dime Box

The other day my friend Keeton told me that Dime Box, Texas is a hotbed of intellectual and literary activity and I believed him. So as we headed north on Highway 77 and got within spittin' distance of the town, I suggested we take our first detour. Winnie's mouth fell open.

"Dime Box?" She asked, incredulous. Just last night she was reading the chapter in Blue Highways where Bill stops for a $1.50 haircut in none other than DB. "We have to go!"

Dime Box doesn't look like it's changed much since Heat-Moon was here - blink and you'll miss it, a few weather-worn buildings on a windy, tree-lined road, but there was no more Ocvarik's Cafe, and sadly the Dime Box Museum (which is proudly advertised by a giant white mailbox on the turnoff for the town) was closed. (On Saturday, which leaves you to wonder when do folks line up for the Dime Box Museum if not on a Saturday?) We stopped in at the only business that looked open, a market, got checked out hard by the local gentry, and picked up a couple of gallons of water, 1/4 pound of cheddar cheese and a diet D.P. "Is there a cafe around here?" Winnie asked the clerk, and she said No, we'd have to go back up the road to Old Dime Box for that.

In ODB we found the Cowgirls Chuckwagon, I shit you not, in an old metal portable with a marquis right on the highway. It was already 3:00 by the time we stopped in, and there were five women in the place including us, the cook and the waitress. They had one calendar, ten $1 bills taped neatly next to the ice machine, and hand-lettered signs over the kitchen advertising the weekly specials: MON-FRI lunch spec TEA and desert included. COLD Mug beer $1.50 every NITE. MON Nite BURGARS only 1.99. We were six hours into the trip and already challenged to eat healthy, but ordered HARDY BREAKFAST TACOS off the menu, no meat, and unsweetened tea, please.

While we waited for our food, one of the other patrons, a permed and bleach blond woman about my age in all white with a hot pink hand bag sat and chain-smoked Marlboro Menthols while sipping Bud Lite with her girlfriend. Every few minutes they'd walk over to the juke box and pick out a few more songs. They played "Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys." They played "You Ain't Nothin' But A Hound Dog." They played Patsy Cline's "Crazy," then "Beer, Bait and Ammo," then"Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy" and ZZ Top's "Sharp-Dressed Man" - twice.

The tacos were fantastic with fresh homemade salsa and after our meal, the blond woman and her friend left. We got to talking with Cherry, the owner, and her housemate/cook, Marsha. Cherry opened the Cowgirl Chuck Wagon back in February. She said she's owned several restaurants, but before, she was "always tangled up with some man." Heavy sigh. "Not anymore." Marsha said Cherry was divorced and Marsha's husband died, and they were both pretty happy to be shed of the baggage. They used to be sisters-in-law -"sort of" - but now they were just friends.

Cherry was proud that her food was all fresh, "hand-cut and hand-breaded" including the All-U-Can-Eat-Catfish for $6.99 that was the special on Friday nights. "Everything we cook is homemade."

"Well," said Marsha, taking a long pull on her cigarette," we don't catch the catfish. We don't have time to go fishin'."

Cherry agreed with a resigned nod.

"And the chicken, well, we get that out of a bag. I mean, we don't have time to go out and ring the chicken's neck ..."

They called themselves Oscar and Felix - Marsha was the clean one and Cherry was the one who had a hard time figuring out what to wear in the morning. "I tell her just set out you some clean underthings and a shirt and pants the night before," Marsha said, rolling her eyes. Then Cherry chimed in, "But I keep changing my mind, and every time I take a pair of socks out or a different shirt I don't put it back and pretty soon I've just got a pile of clothes there..."

Marsha rolled her eyes again and said, "At my age, you're just glad to have a seatcover."

Keeton, at first I thought maybe you were yankin' my chain. Then we walked into the Cowgirls Chuckwagon, met a couple of calm, philosophical women who'd had their share of hard luck and bad men but still had hope and laughter and each other. In the end, I think we found the hotbed.